Gemini II: Another Dance, Another Chance
by SparrowWriter
Summary: It's been eleven years since the Yule Ball, and George and Hermione meet again at Colin and Ginny's wedding. Will they fail to repair the loss of a decade's worth of emotion...or will the forgotten romance get a second chance? (Ge/Hr)


Title: Gemini II: Another Dance, Another Chance  
  
Author name: HobbitatHeart  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Keywords: George Hermione wedding dance  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: CoS, GoF, Gemini by HobbitatHeart  
  
Summary: It's been eleven years since the Yule Ball, and George and Hermione meet again at Colin and Ginny's wedding. Will they fail to repair the loss of a decade's worth of emotion...or will the forgotten romance get a second chance? (Ge/Hr)  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author notes: Thank you for all the reviews for Gemini! I decided to write this sequel...I hope you enjoy it!  
  
"And now introducing..." the D.J. began with a grin, his voice amplified by a Sonorus charm. "...Mr. and Mrs. Colin Creevey!"  
  
Twenty-four-year-old Ginny entered the room, hand-in-hand with her new husband who stood several inches shorter than her. Her face was flushed, but that was no comparison to Colin's pale expression of nervousness and excitement. A cheesy love song by the now middle-aged Weird Sisters played in the background, and I watched as the red-haired woman and her husband gazed deeply into each other's eyes.  
  
"Isn't it romantic, Hermione?" Angelina Johnson sighed, her bright purple bridesmaid's dress complementing her glittering brown eyes. "I hope my wedding is just like this." Fred Weasley, her fiancé, made exaggerated gagging noises and she rolled her eyes. "Though with someone like Fred I'm probably doomed to a ceremony in Zonko's Joke Shop."  
  
I laughed politely, but my eyes were focused on a man across the hall. He had almost-crimson hair that was severely tousled, especially for a wedding reception, and a bright suit in several thousand shades of scarlet and gold. Thoughts of my years in Gryffindor rushed into my head at the sight of his clothing, as well as the silvery robe on which his initials were neatly embroidered. GW. George Weasley.  
  
Though I tried my best to stop it, my heart pounded and a familiar feeling of butterflies leapt into my stomach. Ugh! I was twenty-five now, much too old to be worried about silly teenage crushes. All the same, I hadn't seen George since his graduation, when he'd gone to the U.S. to open a joke shop. He and Fred had planned to open the shop together, but Fred was recruited by the Chudley Cannons as a beater and quickly brought the failing team to stardom. And so George went by himself.  
  
I wonder what would have happened if I'd told George how I felt before he left. Maybe if I told him I liked him...that I was in love with him... he would have stayed in Britain. I shrugged off my idiotic thoughts. The joke shop had brought him fame, money, and (probably) a girlfriend (though I smugly noted there was none in sight). Besides, what kind of boy would give up so much for the affections of a sixteen-year-old girl? He'd probably laugh at my confession, even if I had managed to have a serious conversation with him after the Yule Ball. Which I, er, hadn't...except for a not-so-meaningful and nearly catastrophic date that summer. Nor had I kept in contact with him through owl post in the last ten years.  
  
Thus, I had no right to be in love with him. He was probably a totally different person with a totally different life who had the same attitude towards me that a person would usually have toward an insignificant ketchup stain that had very nearly gone away after years of washings - obliviously and with a hint of annoyance. One dance meant nothing.  
  
George looked across the hall and our eyes met. He smiled gently and mouthed "hi" in my direction. I felt like falling over in happiness. Must not faint, my inner voice reminded me. Must remain alive, at least until after reception. I grinned goofily. "Hi, George" I mouthed back.  
  
Angelina saw me, narrowed her eyebrows, and then looked where I was facing. "Oh, it's George!" she exclaimed. Her fiancé came back to reality at the sound of his twin's name, and both went running towards him with hugs and greetings. I stood there, looking hopelessly idiotic as they asked him all sorts of questions, which were only half-answered before they hugged him again.  
  
"Sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony," he murmured apologetically, as his family and friends, including the bride and groom, surrounded him. "I had a last minute business meeting and they wouldn't let me leave, not even for my baby sister's wedding." He smiled at Ginny and looked somewhat warily at Colin. "I Apparated here as soon as I could." Then, quickly going from acting like Percy to acting like a true Weasley twin, George drew out a huge package from his robes. "Filibuster Fireworks for everyone!" The Muggles in the crowd, and even some of the wizards, looked slightly scared.  
  
"Hi, George," I said quietly, certain he couldn't hear me through the noise of the crowd.  
  
He looked up from passing out the fireworks to the children and children-at- heart. "Hermione..."  
  
"For our next dance," the D.J. began, interrupting George, "I'd like the maid of honour and the best man (both not yet married)," - at this, the audience gave a polite chuckle and I blushed furiously - "to share a very special song. Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Harry Potter!"  
  
I gave George an 'I'm sorry' look and took Harry's hand in mine. "Gee, you look happy," Harry said sarcastically, commenting on my depressed demeanor as we began to dance. He may have been one of my best friends, but he was terribly unhelpful.  
  
"I'm fine, Harry," I sighed, sounding very much like my bossy fourth-year self and looking a similar way with my horrible hair threatening to come out of the hairdresser's spell. "Just a bit preoccupied." I paused and then abruptly clarified. "I mean, I have to work twice as hard as I usually do if I want to become the first female Minister of Magic."  
  
"Hermione." Harry held my shoulders and looked seriously into my eyes. "You're in love, aren't you?"  
  
"N-no," I stuttered. "Not with you," I said automatically.  
  
Harry was unfazed. "Well, obviously not with me." We were still dancing, but it was more like just walking around in circles. "But who?"  
  
"It's..." I paused, bit my tongue, and stepped on his foot accidentally on purpose. "No one. I'm perfectly happy by myself, thank you very much. I'm the highest ranking Muggle-born in the Ministry (imagine that happening if Vol...er...you-know-who was still alive!), I make more money than I could possibly use, and I have a great life."  
  
"But you're lonely."  
  
"I have Crookshanks."  
  
"Go dance with George."  
  
I stopped dancing. My mouth hung open. I felt like punching something very hard, preferably something with black hair, glasses, and a lightning-bolt- shaped scar. "What?! How did you...when did you..." My astonishment was so powerful I couldn't even deny it.  
  
"He told me."  
  
"He...told...you."  
  
"In fourth year."  
  
"He told you," I repeated incredulously, "that I was in love with him. In fourth year. Oh yeah, that's likely. I'm twenty-five years old, and you've known that he's known since FOURTH YEAR and you haven't told me!" I might have said the last part a bit too loud. A few of the guests began to stare in my direction and the D.J. seemed ready to make some sort of witty comment.  
  
"He didn't tell me that you were in love with him." Harry blinked, his face grave but his eyes dancing. "He told me he was in love with you. He wanted to know if I was okay with that. He...He made me promise not to tell you," he finished, obviously happy about breaking this promise.  
  
"Really?!" An anxious moment passed. "Ah, right. Fourth year."  
  
"Years have passed," Harry agreed.  
  
"Things have changed," I admitted.  
  
"Not necessarily." He paused, sighed, and gave a look that clearly explained all he felt. "Do you need me to spell it out for you again? Go dance with George."  
  
"I..." The song ended, and I had no choice.  
  
George was sitting by himself, grinning and watching Percy's daughter, Amelia, as she played idly with a fake dragon egg about the size of her entire body and tried to put it in her mouth. He looked up at me. "Hermione." This was the first word I'd heard him say to me in 10 years; it was the second time he'd said it.  
  
"George? Would you like to dance?" He looked very much like I did when he'd asked me all those years ago: slightly bewildered but mostly flattered.  
  
"I'd love to, Miss Granger." He took my hand, we walked into the middle of the room, and suddenly the world was gone.  
  
Luckily, we were both much better at dancing.  
  
"So," I mused. "How's life?"  
  
He nodded slightly. "Life, All, and Everything are currently in Switzerland, but what's left of George Weasley is currently standing on the dance floor at the reception for his little sister's wedding and looking into the eyes of the most beautiful girl there. So, altogether, I guess things are going well."  
  
I raised an eyebrow and laughed nervously. "Same old George."  
  
"Same old Hermione." A beat. "Not that you're old or anything."  
  
"You're older than me!" I protested childishly.  
  
"I know." His voice was reflective, almost regretful. The two-year age difference was one of the main reasons I hadn't told him, aside from my lack of courage. It could have never worked out. Not then, but... "Maybe now," he whispered, as if reading my mind.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Maybe now," he continued awkwardly, trying to form a sentence from his wondering aloud, "you can tell me how your life is going."  
  
"Oh, great," I said brightly, hiding my disappointment. "After Harry, Ron, and I graduated, we all got wonderful jobs. Harry's an Auror, Ron's a chess champion, and I'm...well, I'm working for the Ministry. I'm actually supervising the Muggle Studies division."  
  
"I heard," he replied with a smile. "My dad's really happy for you, and for the whole division. It's a shame he retired before they created it."  
  
"Oh, yes, awful," I agreed abstractly.  
  
"It's been so many years, Hermione," George said, his British accent intact despite the decade in the United States. He gracefully moved across the floor.  
  
"Ten." I reconsidered. "Eleven."  
  
He closed his eyes, deep in thought. "Eleven," he agreed. "It's been eleven years since I fell in love with an amazing girl and did nothing about it. It's been eleven years since I decided to flee from my love instead of confessing it. It's been eleven years. But when I look at you..."  
  
"It feels like yesterday," I finished. "You know, we're being really sappy," I said quickly, trying to act more like he would (or should, being George Weasley) in this situation. "Why not reminisce about all the times with the Marauder's Map, or playing Quidditch, or hiding Snape's potion ingredients? Why focus on the Yule Ball?"  
  
"Because the Yule Ball was the most fun I ever had at Hogwarts," George said honestly. "Because the Yule Ball was when I first felt like George. Not like George-and-Fred. Not like Fred-and-George-and-Angelina-and-Alicia. Like George Weasley."  
  
"Because that was the day I learned some things are most interesting than Hogwarts, a History," I muttered with a laugh.  
  
"Because that's when I met you," George whispered. "When I heard that song that brought us together."  
  
There was a silence, and I tried to absorb the events of the day as music echoed through the reception hall. "It's the same song," I realized with a small gasp.  
  
"It's a short song," he acknowledged.  
  
I grinned. "George?"  
  
"Yes, Hermione?" I looked up at him. He looked back. Our eyes met.  
  
Another dance, another chance.  
  
We kissed. A kiss of lost years, of bad choices, and of true love. A kiss that not cut short by Alicia Spinnet or Viktor Krum or the pressures of being a teenager. A kiss...  
  
"Hey! Looks like we've got another wedding coming soon," the D.J. chuckled. All eyes were on us. I pulled away and blushed; George grinned mischievously. "Can I give you my card?"  
  
THE END 


End file.
